


Just the Way You Are

by eggsbenni221



Series: The Song in My Heart [2]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Birthday, F/M, Family, Fluff, Parenthood, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:50:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: Mabel Darcy is a demanding infant, Billy Darcy has a cold, and their parents are exhausted. Oh, and it's Bridget's birthday, so Billy's temperature isn't the only thing running high in the Darcy household. (post BJB, pre MATB universe)





	Just the Way You Are

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 2 in a series of vignettes based on a playlist of songs I created that remind me of Mark and Bridget. There is no specific order or timeline continuity. The primary inspiration for this one is Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are" and Sinatra's "The Way You Look Tonight". 
> 
> (((((POSSIBLE MATB SPOILERS! ))))) We know that Mabel is only a few months old when Mark is killed in Sudan, and we know according to MATB that he's killed in April, the month after Bridget's birthday in the book universe timeline, so this probably occurs just before he leaves (sniffle, sob).  
> Usual disclaimers; not my characters, etc., etc. Typos and formatting errors are mine. Please don't hesitate to bring them to my attention.

>   
>  I wouldn't leave you in times of trouble.  
>  We never could have come this far.  
>  I took the good times; i'll take the bad times.  
>  I'll take you just the way you are.- Billy Joel, "Just the Way You Are"

> Yes you're lovely, never ever change.  
>  Keep that breathless charm.  
>  Won't you please arrange it?  
>  'Cause I love you  
>  just the way you look tonight.- Frank Sinatra, "The Way You look Tonight"

“Mark?” He registered the sound of his name as a distant hum at the edge of his brain, but Mark was so deeply asleep that at first he processed it only as a part of his dream.

“Mark.” Half-conscious now, he turned onto his side and reached automatically to pull Bridget against him, frowning in his sleep as his brain dimly registered her absence. 

“Mark!” Finally, the sharp crack of Bridget’s voice jolted him awake. 

“About bloody time,” she grumbled as he sat up and switched on the bedside lamp, briefly shielding his eyes against the glare, and speaking of glares, Bridget’s eyes flashed with temper as she stood in the bedroom doorway, hands planted on her hips. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked groggily. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

“You’re joking, right? Mark, didn’t you hear Mabel crying?” He hadn’t, though now he expected that if Bridget had been unable to rouse him, there might have been a few bats in a cave a hundred miles off that could have alerted him to his infant daughter’s wails. Mark couldn’t blame Bridget for resenting his rest; Mabel had kept them both awake for the past three nights, and Billy had a cold besides. Most nights, they took it in turns to tend to the baby if she fussed, and tonight would have been Mark’s shift, but when he’d returned home far later than usual after spending the entire day working on an especially challenging asylum case, Bridget had insisted he try to sleep. He’d argued to no avail, and barely remembered swallowing his dinner in a haze of fatigue before crawling into bed and practically passing out. 

“God, Bridget, I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear her.” 

“lucky you,” she huffed. “Now could you please give me a hand with her? I think Billy has a fever, and I need to check.” 

“Right. Of course.” Mark scrubbed a hand over his face and swung his legs out of bed. 

“She’s probably just fussing, but she might want to nurse.” 

“not qualified,” replied Mark, attempting a smile. “My parental skill set has become increasingly diverse, but I’m afraid on-demand lactation isn’t one of my many talents.” 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mark, I’m not asking you to grow breasts! Could you just bring her in here? I’ll deal with her after I’ve seen to Billy.” She hesitated; then added dejectedly, “If he’s really got a fever, I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel tomorrow.” 

Mark sighed; he’d feared as much, but as they’d planned this evening out weeks ago, it hardly surprised him that with the disappointment and the lack of sleep over the past several nights, their son’s temperature wasn’t the only thing currently running high in the Darcy household. Tom and Eduardo had offered their baby-sitting services so that Mark and Bridget could have a child-free date night for her birthday, and had planned to bring along their little boy, Lucas, who was a little over a year older than Billy. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said now. “I’m sure Tom and Eduardo are more than capable of handling a toddler with a bad case of the snuffles.” 

Bridget frowned. “But if he’s really sick, I shouldn’t leave him.” Mabel gave another shriek that made both parents wince. 

“Right,” said Mark, moving to the door. “I’ll wait on the princess. You see to Billy.” Bridget rewarded him with a weary but grateful smile before disappearing. 

In the nursery, Mark had the distinct pleasure of front-row access to his daughter’s impressive vocal performance. 

“Sh, Mabel, it’s all right. Daddy’s here now.” For answer, Mabel raised her protests yet another octave. Checking and finding to his relief that baby, nighty, and crib were satisfactorily dry, Mark scooped her up and began rubbing her back, shifting her alternately from one shoulder to the other while her tiny arms and legs flailed in a windmill of protest. As the pitch of Mabel’s crying reduced slightly, he endeavored to hum a tuneless lullaby, low enough that Bridget wouldn’t hear and interject with her criticism; “plumbing problem” and “drunken apology” were the kindest phrases she’d invented to describe his singing abilities. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he cradled her against his hip and carried her back to bed with him. After comfortably swaddling her in the duvet, he crawled in beside her and snuggled her against his chest. 

“There now, princess. You’re safe; Daddy’s right here.” Mabel gurgled and peered up at him, one tiny, dimpled finger reaching out to draw a line along his jaw. As it did every time he held her, a rush of pure love flooded Mark’s heart, and he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckle of each little finger in turn. With a contented sigh, Mabel tucked her head beneath his chin, and he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. 

“I love you, Mabel girl,” he whispered into her hair. Mabel blinked sleepily up at him, and he smiled. 

“Why? Well, because you’re beautiful, and wonderful, and perfect, just as you are.” Mabel gave another contented gurgle, and mercifully, her eyes closed. With her warm weight nestled against his chest and the gentle rhythm of her breathing, Mark found himself likewise dropping off, resurfacing when he heard Bridget entering the bedroom again. 

“Well, Billy does have a low fever, so I’m going to sit up with him for a bit. If you could. . .” Her voice trailed into silence as her eyes fell on her husband and daughter snuggled comfortably together. “oh my God,” she whispered. “She’s asleep.” 

“So was I,” answered Mark, “in case that had escaped your notice.” 

“Sorry.” Bridget perched on the edge of the bed and reached over to brush back Mabel’s curls. “Seriously, how did you get her to go down?” 

“I’m a brilliant, top-level negotiator.” 

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Right.” She sat for several more minutes, gazing fondly at the pair of them before leaning over to slip Mabel into her own arms. “I’ll get her settled back down in her crib.” 

On the point of drifting off again, Mark opened one eye. “I’d strongly advise against that if I were you. I don’t know what I did, but don’t expect me to pull off a miracle twice.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m not sure of anything at the moment,” he yawned, “except that I’m not particularly bothered about where she sleeps as long as she stays that way for at least the next few hours.” 

“Fair enough.” Bridget dent to kiss Mark’s forehead; then the baby’s. “I’m going to sit with Billy. I’ll be back to check on you both in a bit.” 

* * *

Sometime later, Mark became dimly aware of Bridget slipping into bed beside him. Gently so as not to awaken Mabel, he draped an arm across her shoulders as she settled down beneath the covers. 

“Billy’s asleep,” she whispered, “but I’m really not sure about leaving him tomorrow, and if he has a fever, I don’t want Lucas exposed to anything.” 

“Why not wait and see how he feels in the morning?” Mark suggested. “Tom and Eduardo are responsible. I’m sure they can handle things here for a few hours.” Bridget bit her lip. “Sweetheart, you need to do this; it’s important. You’ve hardly been out of the house in weeks.” 

“I know, and it’s just so fucking unfair!” Realizing she’d raised her voice, she glanced worriedly at Mabel, but Mabel only snuffled in her sleep and curled herself into the crook of Mark’s arm. “I mean, we planned for this, and I was really looking forward to getting away for a bit and maybe trying to fit into something that’s not covered in milk or sick.” 

“Sh, I know, love, but we’ll find a way to make it work.” 

“I feel so guilty, Mark,” Bridget whispered. “I love Billy and Mabel, but it’s hard sometimes, and lately I just feel like I’ve forgotten who I am, forgotten who I was before I became a mum, and I want to find that part of myself again without feeling like a terrible mum for wanting a bit of my own identity back.” Tears welled in her eyes, and Mark gently brushed them away with the pad of his thumb. There had been a time, and not in the very distant past, when he might have withdrawn from a moment like this; he’d often struggled to verbalize his own feelings, let alone understand and assuage those of others. After years of growing-pains in his relationship with Bridget, however, and now having ridden the hormonal roller-coaster of two pregnancies with her, Mark felt he’d run the gamut of human emotions. 

“Bridget,” he said, stroking her cheek with his fingertips, “you’re not a terrible mother. There’s nothing terrible about needing to replenish your reserves of energy. That’s why I think it’s so important for us to do this. You can’t be any good to the children if you’re not good to yourself. You know that.” 

“I know,” she sniffled. “You’re right. I don’t want to suddenly lash out and just, like, eat them, or something.” 

“I think it would be wise to avoid that, yes,” Mark agreed. 

“And I know you were looking forward to tomorrow as well. I feel like sometimes I’m not being fair to you. We’re not just parents. I mean, having Billy and Mabel has altered the dynamics of our relationship, but we’re still a couple. We still need each other—still need to connect on some level as adults, in an adult relationship, but how can we do that when I’m just tired all the time and feel like crap and I barely have time to wash my hair and none of my clothes fit and--” 

Mark placed a finger over her lips, and when she’d gone quiet, he lowered his head and kissed her. “And I love you,” he murmured, “just the way you are.” 

* * *

Mark leaned against the doorframe and watched silently as Bridget cradled their little boy in one arm and balanced a book in the other, her voice providing a gentle accompaniment to the movement of the rocker in which they were ensconced. Billy’s fever had gone down, and aside from some lingering sniffles, he seemed to be turning a corner, though Bridget was still reluctant to leave him. She’d insisted that the best birthday gift she’d received was the fact that none of the rest of the family had caught Billy’s cold. Mabel had just gone down after a feeding, and Billy, fresh from his bath and sporting his favorite penguin pajamas, rested his head sleepily against Bridget’s shoulder. 

“Now,” she read, “by this time, Rabbit wanted to go for a walk too, and finding the front door full, he went out by the back door, and came round to Pooh, and looked at him. ‘Hallo, are you stuck?’ ‘No,’ said Pooh carelessly. ‘Just resting and humming and thinking to myself.’” 

“I hate to interrupt this pivotal moment in Pooh’s dietary dilemma,” said Mark, “but Bridget, Tom will be here in less than an hour. Don’t you think you’d better dress?” Bridget looked up in the act of turning a page and took in his appearance—his crisp, white shirt and dark trousers, a dinner-jacket draped over one arm. 

“Mark! I didn’t realize you were standing there.” 

“No, well, Pooh Bear’s problems take priority, I realize that, but we do have an 8.30 reservation.” Bridget chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, and anticipating her argument, Mark crossed the room and scooped up Billy. 

“Mark, I really don’t think--” 

“I won’t hear a word of protest, Bridget. Go on. I’ll take over here.” Retrieving the book from her lap, he glanced at the page she’d been reading. “Excellent. My favorite part, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to practice my rabbit voice.” Bridget hesitated for a moment longer; then got to her feet, kissed her son’s forehead, and disappeared. 

Not ten minutes later, Mark had exhausted his repertoire of animal voices, Pooh Bear was humming his way back to his home in the Hundred Acre Wood, and Billy was fast asleep with his head against his father’s chest. Sometimes being a parent felt not unlike being an inexpert juggler, and sometimes, Mark thought, gazing tenderly down at his son, it was suspiciously easy. After tucking Billy into bed and performing an efficient headcount of his requisite menagerie of stuffed toys, Mark slipped from the room and went in search of his wife. Miraculously, in the time it took Rabbit and all Rabbit’s friends and relations to extract Pooh from his tight spot, Bridget had managed to shower and dress; the minutia of motherhood, it seemed, had taught her a few time-management tricks. As Mark entered their bedroom, he spotted her before the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection with a slight frown. She’d selected an ankle-length, sweeping black skirt and a matching top with long, flared sleeves in a flowing, loose-fitting material that managed to achieve both comfort and elegance. Her ever-present, Tiffany heart necklace nestled in her cleavage, and a pair of kitten-heeled, suede boots completed the ensemble. Between her smile and a dusting of make-up, it appeared to Mark that forcing her to indulge in even a few minutes of self-care had lifted her spirits. 

“I love the way that looks on you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and bending to kiss the top of her head. 

“It fits,” she observed, “which is a miracle.” 

“I wasn’t referring to the outfit,” said Mark, “though it’s lovely. I was referring to this.” Lifting a hand, he gently traced a finger along the curve of her smile; then tilted her chin up to brush his lips against hers. For a moment, Bridget leaned into his embrace, closing her eyes and resting her head against his chest. 

“Tom should be here any moment,” she said at last, pulling back and glancing at her watch. “I told him just to come in rather than ring, so he wouldn’t wake Mabel.” As if on cue, they heard the distant opening and shutting of the front door followed by a pair of feet ascending the stairs. The next moment, Tom appeared in the doorway. 

“Happy Birthday, Bridgelene!” he exclaimed, sweeping her into an embrace and kissing her cheek. “Darling, look at you! You look so thin!” 

“Leave it, Bridget,” Mark said sternly as she made to protest. 

“But Mark, Tom’s been greeting me that way for years; even the week before I went into labor with Mabel.” Ignoring her pout, Tom swept her into another hug, and she giggled as he spun her around in a little dance. As he released her, he planted another loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. 

“for Luke,” he explained. “I promised; love from Eduardo and a kiss for Auntie B from Lucas.” 

“You’re sure Eduardo doesn’t mind having to stay at home with Lucas? I mean, it’s only because of Billy. I didn’t want Lucas exposed to his cold, but I didn’t want you to have to rearrange the plan and--” 

Tom placed a finger over her lips, effectively shushing her. “Stop it, Bridgelene. It’s your birthday, and you’re going to go out and have a lovely, fabulous, drunk time and,” he added, turning to Mark, “if you even dare to bring her home sober, you’ll have me to answer to.” 

“You have my word of honor,” Mark replied solemnly, slipping one arm around Bridget’s waist and reaching for her coat with the other. At the same instant, however, Mabel chose to remind her parents of her existence. 

“Shit,” Bridget sighed, torn between maternal instinct and exasperation, and before either Mark or Tom could prevent her, she dashed from the room, returning a moment later cradling Mabel against one shoulder. 

“There, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Mummy’s here.” 

“No,” said Tom firmly, striding forward and lifting the baby into his own arms. “Mummy’s on a date. Uncle Tom is in charge.” The concern etched on Bridget’s face melted into a smile as Tom jiggled Mabel in the crook of his arm and rested her head against his shoulder, humming what sounded suspiciously to Mark like the lyrics to “Lady Marmalade.” Mabel squirmed for several moments; then settled contentedly against Tom’s chest and slid her thumb into her mouth, gazing placidly at her parents like a queen surveying her domain. 

Bridget went to give Mabel a quick cuddle; then reached up to peck Tom’s cheek. “Thanks, sweetie,” she whispered. 

“Any time, Bridgelene.” 

“Keep an eye on Uncle Tom, princess,” said Mark, brushing his lips against his daughter’s forehead. “No clubbing, all right?” Tom lifted one of Mabel’s hands in a wave as he left the room. 

“Shit,” Bridget sniffled, swiping at a tear on her cheek. “Love the friends. Don’t know what we’d do without them, really.” Turning from Mark, she reached for a tissue to dab at a smudge of mascara. “Fuck, I’ve spoiled my make-up. Don’t look at me.” 

Mark slid an arm around her waist again and pulled her to him. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, love,” he murmured, “but I haven’t stopped looking at you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He paused then, reaching into the pocket of his dinner jacket. “And that reminds me, actually. I was going to wait and give this to you at dinner, but now is as good a time as any.” Bridget tore off the paper on the small box he placed in her hand and flipped open the lid of the jeweler’s case; nestled against a bed of dark velvet lay a silver ring set with her birth stone—the smooth, glittering aquamarine cut to resemble a heart. Turning the trinket over in her hand, she drew in a breath as she caught sight of the letters engraved on the inner-side of the band: J, A, U, R. 

“Just as you are,” she whispered, tears shining in her eyes. 

“In case I don’t tell you enough,” said Mark, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Happy Birthday, darling.” 

Bridget slid the ring onto her finger; then wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love you, Mark Darcy.” 

Mark lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “you know,” he said, the corners of his mouth just turning up in the hint of a smirk, , “I don’t blame you.” 

Bridget laughed. “You’re feeling especially sure of yourself lately.” 

Pulling her close again, Mark rested his cheek against the top of her head. “With you, my love,” he whispered, “I’m sure of everything.” 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. We know that Tom and Eduardo adopt a baby in the third film, though we don't really know anything about him.  
> 2\. The snippet Bridget is reading to Billy is taken from the story titled "In Which Pooh Goes Visiting and Gets into a Tight Spot".  
> 3\. At the end of Bridget Jones's Baby (book universe) Bridget remembers that the password to unlock her iPhone is comprised of the numbers that correspond with the letters j, a, u, and r (just as you are), so this is the inspiration for the inscription on the ring Mark gives her.  
> 4\. Credit for the colorful description of Mark's vocal abilities goes to the one and only Colin Firth, who has on occasion described his own singing in those terms when being interviewed about "Mama Mia".
> 
> Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated! I work for praise, yall. Also tweet or follow me on Twitter @eggsbenni221.


End file.
